Sneaky Pete
by agent iz hyper
Summary: Sam's got an epic birthday present for Dean in mind. He's just gotta hone a few skills so he can get it; skills that Dean excels at... but then, that's what brothers are for - sharing their talents and looking out for each other, right? / Sam is 16, Dean's turning 20. / 1 part plot, 2 parts family, and 7 parts fun brotherly banter.


**Sneaky Pete**

**Summary:** Sam's got a damn epic birthday present for his brother in mind. He's just gotta hone a few skills so he can get it; skills that Dean excels at, too - but then, that's what brothers are for - sharing their talents and looking out for each other, right? / Sam - 16, Dean - 20

**Disclaimer/ warning thingy:** No, I do not know how to professionally/properly hustle pool. I did some research, though (most of which... was pretty pointless and I didn't even use in this fic, but whatevs), and I also researched quite a bit on weapons... elaborated later on. :P Oh, right, and – this is practically 10% family stuff, 20% plot, and 70% awesomesauce brotherly banter. xP Couldn't help it. It's not an angsty deep contemplative one-shot, for once! :D *self-accomplishment* Lol. Gogogo~ read! ^^

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><p>Watching his brother hustle pool or play poker was riveting. Compelling, even. Dean Winchester was a <em>born <em>professional. He could calculate his shots before he'd even started, and read a person with barely a glance. Years of doing it had just honed his skills to perfection so well that it was damn near impossible for him to lose.

Sam had watched his big brother in motion with adoration since he was old enough to understand the amount of sheer _skill_ he possessed. And even before then, he'd always been in complete awe at the seeming _simplicity _that Dean won his earnings.

But then, he _had_ always been a tad biased where his brother was concerned - seeing him in a perfect, undefeatable light, a role model to look up to and follow, all his life. That would tend to happen when the guy practically raised him and taught him every single thing he knew - and then some. And now that Sam _really _appreciated it, he wanted to let Dean know what an awesome brother he was. In a totally-not chick-flicky way, of course.

He had an idea brewing - Dean's birthday was coming up.

And he had an awesome present in mind. One that was _slightly _over his budget, though - but sitting in that bar watching Dean easily earn a few hundred bucks at the pool table sparked a plan in his mind.

He just needed a bit of time... and some convincing to do.

* * *

><p>The convincing bit had to come first - well, <em>one<em> of the convincing bits. And it had to be timed and planned right. He couldn't mess _this_part up, even if he was still kinda in two minds about it.

Reason? It involved his dad.

Sam put aside the book he'd been staring at for the past ten minutes and glanced around. John Winchester was seated at the round table in the middle of the small but neat motel room, focused on the information he was jotting into his journal - no doubt for the hunt he was preparing to go on next. Dean had left barely half an hour ago to 'take his baby for a spin', as he put it, quite literally if the screeching sound of the Impala's wheels that followed were any indicator. John had handed it - _her_, as Dean would insist - to his eldest son just last year, on his birthday, taking up his own black Ute. It made it easier when Dean and Sam went on their own hunts when their father assigned them one because he was busy with something already.

Sam shook his head. He was getting sidetracked. He needed to get this over and done with, while John was in a good mood - or, well, he didn't look like he would snap at Sam now if he interrupted him - and before he lost his nerve. He was _sixteen_, for goodness' sake, he was fully entitled to ask for some _money_.

Still, he had to take a breath and hesitate before speaking up.

"Hey, uh - Dad?"

John looked up from his journal in surprise. "Yeah, Sammy?"

_Sammy_. That was a good sign - he _was_in a good mood. Sam gained some confidence and sat up, no longer hesitant.

"I kinda... need something." He paused, wondering how exactly to phrase it. He hadn't really _asked_ his father for anything in a while - usually they were too busy trying to bite each other's heads off for something like that, and anyway - he _usually _went to Dean for anything. Obviously, though, he couldn't now.

John's dark eyes met the greenish hazel of his youngest son's, open and encouraging, for once. Curious, too, understandably. He and Sam hardly _talked _civilly these days, and it wasn't like the teenager to ask him for things. "What is it, Sam?"

The words came in a bit of a rush. "I, uh, I need some money - not a lot, just enough to start a game of pool and I'll get more then, and I wouldn't have asked, it's just that I don't have any to start with and I can't ask Dean because it's his birthday and he'll know -"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, son," John interrupted. A grin of amusement covered his face.

Sam stopped, flushing. A sheepish grin crept onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, right…"

John eyed his son inquisitively. He sat back from his notes, crossing his arms. Sam tried not to get apprehensive at the once-over his father gave him, like he was figuring something out.

"What are you getting him?" he eventually asked.

Sam relaxed and shot him a wide grin. "You'll see." _I hope. If I can manage to get that much money_, he added silently, before pushing the brief doubts away. He wasn't winning anything soon if he didn't even have the confidence. One of the first things Dean had taught him when he was younger – _step one to winning is to keep a cool head and have the confidence that you WILL win. Got that, Sammy?_ And he'd always admired his brother for that – his ability to keep a stoic face and show unwavering belief all the time that he wasn't going to lose.

Sam was pretty good at that himself now. He had learnt from the best, after all.

* * *

><p>Sam had almost forgotten how hard it was sometimes to catch his brother for a few hours when he wasn't busy doing something. These days, he kept tinkering around with the Impala's engine, claiming he was adjusting the carburettor because something in it wasn't stable. Or he was hustling pool to get some money to fix her paintjob, because the last fugly they'd tackled had scratched her up pretty bad.<p>

Still, he's always had time to hang out with his brother, even now that they were older and each had his own interests – Dean's including bars and women, while Sam strayed more to the library or the local soccer ground if he felt like it. They sparred regularly, to keep in shape and at the top of their game, and practiced shooting together.

So, about three weeks before Dean's birthday, and a couple of days into their stay at the current 'normal' town their dad was going to leave them at while he hunted the poltergeist off close by, Sam brought up his proposition casually.

"So, Dean," he began while he leaned against a pole outside and watched his brother wrestling with a wrench and something under his car's hood.

"What?" Dean grunted, his attention on Sam even though he was still focused on his job. He jerked the tool one last time before straightening up, standing back to critically analyse his handiwork with a satisfied nod.

"When'd you start hustling pool?"

The question was completely random, and Sam realized just how much at the bewildered look Dean shot him.

"What?"

He went for the exasperated '_big brothers are so slow'_ tone. "_Pool_, Dean. Y'know, cues, 9-ball-"

"I know what pool is, Sammy," his brother interrupted with an eye-roll. Sam's lips quirked in amusement. Dean shut the engine lid of the Impala and tossed the wrench back into his tool-box before going over to his younger brother. "Round about 15, I guess," he shrugged in response to Sam's initial question. "What's with the sudden interest?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing, just curious." He paused for a couple of beats, adding the right amount of hesitation and hopefulness with his next words – "Can you teach me?"

Dean stopped and stared at Sam like he'd requested something completely bizarre. "You want me to teach you how to hustle pool?" he repeated in a half-incredulous tone.

Sam shook his head. "No, I know the rules, it's just – I'd like some tips, y'know? How you calculate your hits, predict where the next ball's going…" he trailed off with half a shrug, watching as Dean eyed him with an unreadable expression.

Then Dean grinned and slapped a hand down onto his shoulder. "Well, Sammy, you just might prove yourself a man after all." He ducked from his brother's playful punch, laughing. "All right, yeah, I'll show ya the ropes. Not like we've got anything better to do here, huh?"

"Awesome." Sam grinned. Time for phase 2 – the last and most important one.

Earning that money.

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><p>"No, lower your angle a bit more – yeah, that's right. You want to be able to focus on three things – end of your cue stick, your target, and your aim. Right, now show me how you'd hit the 5-ball into the right corner hole… Yeah, that's it, just- lower it, yeah. Not too much, Sam, you don't wanna end up hitting the ball from the bottom. Alright, that's good. Now hit it, show me."<p>

Sam focused, bending over the cue just enough that he could balance and determine his hit. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, set his hand and cue, pulled it back slightly and made his shot. He straightened up right after to watch as the white ball collided smoothly with the 5, which rolled right into the hole. A small smile curled up his lips, but Dean only nodded before moving him around the table to the other side.

"Alright, good. But that was an easy shot, right in front of the hole. Try the 12, get it to rebound off the opposite edge, get the angle right and you can get it into this hole in one rebound. Or you can hit it harder, change the angle a bit more to the right, rebound twice into the second hole there." Dean traced the paths he was talking about with his finger, tapping the hole he was indicating.

Sam studied the course the ball would take for a moment, tapping his fingers around the cue stick before nodding once. "Got it."

Dean stood back and watched critically as his brother mentally measured the trajectory angle he would need and braced the cue lightly on his left hand, muttering softly to himself as he shifted his cue end a little to the left. He didn't hesitate as he took the shot, just swiftly hit it and stood back to watch it. Dean felt a surge of pride as his little brother got it straight into the hole on his first go. Sammy had always been a fast learner, and he definitely had the brains for pool.

"Nice," he said appreciatively, grinning back in response to his brother's bashful grin. He moved forward to reset the balls into their proper positions before pausing and glancing at Sam. "Hey, are you gonna go for a game at the bar?"

Sam shrugged casually, crossing his arms over the edge of the pool table and leaning on them. "Yeah, I guess. Be good to see how I'd go against other people."

Dean thought that over as he set the balls' positions, then turned to get another cue off the wall. It was a good thing they were staying at a pretty decent motel this time, complete with its own game room for customers. It was still early, so the brothers were the youngest ones there, the other people including a couple of middle-aged guys at the darts, and a few more at the poker table. It was quiet and calm, wouldn't start to get crowded until the evening, which was why Dean chose this time to teach his brother what he wanted to know.

He had to admit, he had been kinda surprised at Sam's sudden liking to pool. The kid had hardly ever participated in the activities that Dean had always thrived at, choosing to observe from the sidelines than be in the thick of things. Just another difference between them – Dean liked the rougher, more daring aspects of life – not precisely reckless, but enough to cause a thrill; Sam, on the other hand, preferred knowing all the answers to things before rushing into them, doing things he was familiar with.

But, while with other, _normal_, brothers these differences might have been reason for distance between them, it definitely wasn't the case for the Winchesters. Since when did they do things 'normal', anyway?

Dean held up his own cue at Sammy with a cocky grin. "Alright then – how about a game?"

Sam raised his eyebrows but inclined his head slightly, with a mocking, "Sure thing. Only if you promise not to cry when I beat you."

"That your own insecurities speaking, Sammy?" his older brother threw back easily, cracking his knuckles in preparation. Or just for show, most likely. "Don't worry, little bro, I got a box of tissues handy in case you have a break down. Can't say I blame you – I am a professional, after all," he taunted jokingly with a wink.

Sam snorted and tapped his cue on the table edge. "Deflate your head before we start, Dean, it might get in the way." He took a step back then walked around the table a few feet, eyes roaming it, already anticipating his first hit. "Ready?"

"When you are." Dean watched Sammy's eyes, following his line of sight and smiling slightly as he realized his plan – not even started and his brother was already planning ahead.

The corners of Sam's lips quirked up and he nodded. "Let's go, then."

* * *

><p>Playing against strangers at a bar was more difficult than challenging his brother, Sam found out soon after. Dean hadn't gone easy on him after the first round – where he was just testing what Sam had learned – and had played him like he was any other guy. It prepared Sam somewhat for when he went up against random men, but it still wasn't the same – he could read Dean; maybe not as well as Dean could read <em>him<em>, and maybe not perfectly when he had his game-face on, but he could still predict some of his moves sometimes.

It wasn't the case with everyone, though. Some men, he learned, had looks that were easy to examine, flicks of the eyes and twitches of the hands that told him what they were aiming to do. Others had a stoic mask on for the whole game, and with those he had to rely on his abilities to match their stoniness with his own unpredictability, throwing them off guard with shots they never saw coming. He learned that if he had control of the game, he could direct it how he wanted – he simply had to know the right direction to nudge his opponent in; a free shot here, an intercepted pass there… A lot of men underestimated him, thinking he'd be an easy opponent, but they learned quite quickly that that definitely wasn't the case. Soon, he'd won more than he could count.

To say he was pleased would be an understatement.

Sam waited until Dean was out for the night before pulling out his duffel bag and rummaging in the bottom for the locked box he kept his earnings in. He pulled out the cash and counted, silently thanking his father once again for the few hundred dollars he'd let Sam have as a starter. He promised to himself that he would pay him back too, because he wasn't stupid and he knew that Dad would never mention being low on money or anything, but they weren't exactly millionaires. Besides, the idea of being in debt to his own father was not appealing.

He returned the money and the box once he'd calculated it all – _got enough now_ – and mulled over how he was going to get the present without Dean noticing. He knew a place in this town that sold it, had seen Dean eyeing it in admiration when they'd walked past it on their way to the diner the other week – "_Man, that is a thing of beauty. I'm telling ya, Sammy, if I had a regular job, that would be first on my list of stuff to buy," he'd whistled appreciatively. "Yeah? What would you do with it if you had a regular job?" Sam had asked innocently, grinning when his brother threw him a reproachful glare. "You and your damned logic," he'd huffed._

Sam grinned as he imagined Dean's reaction – he hadn't gotten him a costly gift in years, not only due to the fact that he didn't exactly have the money. There just hadn't been occasion for something so classy and expensive, not when the stuff he got his brother on his birthdays was usually random things he'd managed to scrape together, though they always held an undertone of meaning, a message.

He looked around when his phone rang and reached over to the bedside cabinet to pick it up. He glanced at the screen before accepting the call and raising the cell to his ear. "Hey, Dad."

"_Sam_." His father's gruff tones reached him. "_You boys doing alright?"_

"Yeah, we're good." Sam paused, wondering why he hadn't called Dean instead, as he usually did. "The job done, then?"

"_Yeah. Got rid of the poltergeist without much trouble. I'll be back by tomorrow._"

"Right. Uh..." Sitting there wondering if he was supposed to say anything else made Sam realise just how little he actually talked to his dad these days; all exchange lately being nothing more than angry accusations and disappointed words, he recalled with a pang.

"_Hey, Sam_." His father's voice brought him back to focus as he recognised the light knowing tone. "_You aren't by any chance thinking of getting your brother some sort of weapon, are you?_"

Sam tried – quite unsuccessfully – not to gape, and ended up stuttering in surprise, "Uh, I- wait- um... what?"

John chuckled into the phone, and Sam couldn't quite stop his own bemused grin at the next words. "_I do know a thing or two about you boys, Sammy_." He paused, then added, "_Did you want me to pick it up for you?_"

Sam started – he actually hadn't thought about _how_ exactly he would get it, having skipped that process in his mind when he was too busy amusing himself with Dean's possible reactions. But now that his dad mentioned it, he realised that he couldn't have been able to purchase it himself. "Uh – okay, but I've got enough money, Dad, so-"

"_I can pay, Sam, it's fine_."

"No." Sam shook his head, even though he knew his dad couldn't see it. "I earned the cash so I can get it for Dean, Dad. I'll pay you back soon as you get here," he promised. The all-too-familiar purr of the Impala approached the motel room and he heard Dean's clear whistling as he got out and shut the door. Sam added, "Dean's back. Did you wanna talk to him or...?"

"_No, it's alright, just tell him I'll be back by evening tomorrow_," John said and Sam nodded.

"Yes sir. I'll text you the type. See you tomorrow then."

He looked up as the front door opened and Dean strolled in, raising his eyebrows inquisitively as Sam shut his phone and replaced it on his bedside. "Who was that?"

"Dad. He ganked the poltergeist, said to tell you he's returning tomorrow evening," Sam elaborated.

Dean's eyebrows rose even higher at that and he took a seat at the table. "Since when does Dad call you to tell me when he'll be back?"

Sam shrugged unconcernedly. "He wanted to ask me some stuff anyway. How come you're back early?" He looked at his brother properly and only now noticed the gleeful glimmer in his eyes. Come to think of it, he'd been _whistling_ before, and Dean didn't whistle unless something awesome had happened, so...

Dean grinned and pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket. He held up two tickets. "Guess where we're going this Sunday?"

A proper look at the tickets showed Sam that they were for a game, and going over the latest he'd heard in the sports section of the news, he hazarded a guess. "Steelers game?"

"Yahtzee." Dean slapped the tickets down onto the table with a self-pleased smirk. Then he realised that Sam was still looking at him with a surprised expression, and rolled his eyes. "Well, calm down there, Sammy, wouldn't want you busting something," he muttered.

Sam snorted and shook his head, then went over to pick up the tickets and inspect them. He shot Dean a grin. "Do you even know half the players on the team, Dean?"

"No, I'm just going 'cause of the totally hot cheer leaders," he deadpanned back, then rolled his eyes. Sam didn't miss the flicker of amusement in them, though, despite his _'little brothers are so irritating_' act. "Dude, of course I know the players! What, you think I'm living in a shell?"

Sam pretended to contemplate that. "So... I'm guessing the Impala _isn't_ a shell?"

"Hey, watch what you're saying 'bout my baby," Dean mock-growled with a light shove. Sam turned innocent wide eyes on him – and if he couldn't do the completely innocent puppy look, then no one could.

"I'm _sorry_, Dean! I didn't _mean_ it, I swear. Forgive me?" He sniffled a bit to add to the effect, never taking his eyes away from his forcefully stoic-faced brother.

It was a battle of wills too easy to win.

Dean made a face and lightly slapped Sammy upside the head. "You're a cheat, bitch."

"You're a sore loser, jerk," Sam countered Dean just huffed a laugh and started heading for their room, clearly heading for the shower as the distinct bar smells of smoke and alcohol still lingered around him. Sam turned back to place the tickets back on the table. _Sunday, huh..._ Dean's birthday was on Saturday – just two days away now.

_Awesome_.

* * *

><p>When Dean woke up on Saturday to find his brother practically bouncing on his bed in anticipation, a wrapped bundle in his waiting hands, he came to the conclusion that Sammy was <em>way<em> too excited about _Dean's_ birthday than he should be. But then, knowing the kid like he did, Dean surmised that he must have put a lot of effort into the present that was pretty much shoved into his hands once he'd gotten up and washed and chugged down a cup of coffee.

Sam watched eagerly as his brother looked at the heavy bundle curiously, somewhat aware that John was shooting him amused looks due to his almost child-like enthusiasm, but he didn't care much. His eyes were transfixed on Dean's face as he unwrapped the glinting black paper that Sam had carefully covered the box that held his gift with. He couldn't read Dean's downturned face as he gazed at the box but when he opened it and stared inside, still silent, Sam felt some of his excitement dull down a tad to uncertainty. Maybe Dean hadn't really wanted it, he could have just...

But when Dean lifted the sleek silver handgun from its case and gaped at it in obvious awe, Sam's doubts flew away and he let the grin spread over his face as Dean lifted enthralled green eyes to him across the table.

"You're freaking _kidding me_, dude!" he exclaimed gleefully, sounding about five years younger.

Sam laughed a bit and shook his head. "Nope," he replied easily. "A hundred percent serious here, man. It's yours."

Dean made a sound that was halfway between a disbelieving huff and a short laugh, turning the gun over in his hands. He paused as he noticed the intricate designs down the side and upon closer inspection, realised it said _Dean Winchester_. A gun with his name carved into it? Freakin' hell, that was... "Dude," he said lowly without lifting his head. "This is freaking _awesome_." He met Sammy's beam with his own grin. "A Desert Eagle? How much did this thing _cost_, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, sharing a look with their dad, who was watching his sons fondly from the side. "No big deal, man. I earned the money."

"How... Oh." Dean's grin changed to an impressed smirk. "With the skills that _I_ taught ya, huh?" He canted his head to the side cockily and pushed back to tilt the chair onto its two back legs.

"Dude," Sam groaned with a laugh. "No need to stroke your own ego."

Dean snorted in laughter at that and seemed about to insert his own comment, no doubt a crude one, but he changed track when a glance reminded him that an amused John Winchester was still in the room. He let it slide and dropped the chair back in place, handling his new gun in admiration before replacing it in its case too. He shot a sincere smile at Sammy this time, with a "Thanks, bro."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck almost bashfully. "Don't mention it."

The first time Dean used the gun, it saved Sammy's life. And he automatically put it right up there with his most treasured possessions – the Impala, his amulet, now the Desert Eagle. After all, anything that helped him do his job and look out for his little brother was more than worth its merit.

Besides, they _were_ brothers. Looking out for each other, sharing their skills, teasing each other relentlessly and joking around to ease the tension that came with the job... It was just what they did.

* * *

><p><strong>AN – gun = .44 calibre desert eagle. Priced around $1500. Dean does have one, so I didn't just randomly make that up. He's got a lot of guns, but I've always liked the Desert Eagles, they're pretty damn spiff, so I picked that one.**

**& I've hardly played pool, and the few times I have, they were just quick games with barely any rules applied. So excuse the lack of details there, I don't have much experience in that field. And I'm not entirely sure how much money can be earned by single games, which is why I didn't mention any amount at all. Safer that way xP**

**And damn this is long. *stares* But me likes. :P It was fun to write. Kudos to mah trust frined dodo.123 for help with the title xP**

**Let me know what ya thought, huh? :)**

**iz.**


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